


Petrichor

by blue_wind_gets_so_sad



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Light Swearing, Smoking, also i didn't research the history of hotels so forgive me if i got something wrong, do i care, i promised myself i wouldn't write this but here we are, implied johnny/jimmy, it's a jimmy campbell creation now folks, no, this is probably godawful and out of character, vague death implication, yes i know the term "petrichor" wasn't invented until the 60s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 18:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wind_gets_so_sad/pseuds/blue_wind_gets_so_sad
Summary: Jimmy and Davy can't seem to fall asleep after the competition, so they ramble to each other.





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: Light swearing, smoking, drinking, vague death implication (if that makes sense).

             Jimmy stood outside of their hotel with a cigarette perched between his fingers. He was staring at something, but Davy couldn't tell what it was. He wanted to stay at the bar. In fact, his plan was to stay in that exact spot and refrain from moving unless he fell out of his seat. But something was tugging at him to go outside. After telling the bartender he'd be "right back," he grabbed his bottle of alcohol and ventured outside.

             He approached the other man and leaned up against the wall next to him. He followed his gaze and realized that he was just staring off into space. No, not staring. Thinking. Thinking about what? Davy couldn't tell.

             "So, hell of a song, huh?" Davy asked.

             "Yeah." Jimmy simply responded, his eyes not moving.

             "The others went to their rooms. Can't sleep?"

             "Can't sleep." He confirmed.

             Davy nodded and took a swig from his bottle. "Who knew Julia was so..." He trailed off as he tried to search through his near-drunken mind for the right word.

             "Observant?" Jimmy finished for him, finally looking over at him.

             Davy noticed his eyes looked red and puffy, but he chose not to mention it. "Yeah. Observant. I mean, I've told her...things...but I didn't think she notices as much as she does."

             "She's Julia. Of course, she notices. That's her thing. She's our self-proclaimed 'Mother Mary.' We can't tell her some things, and that's okay, but some things don't need to be said to be known."

             Davy silently nodded in agreement then took another swig. They stood in silence for a few minutes before Davy spoke again. “Are you disappointed we lost?”

             “Am I disappointed we lost?” Jimmy repeated his question and took a moment to ponder. “No. We did what we had to. Are you?”

             “God, no. If it wasn’t for you and your ‘fighting for what you find unjust,’ Sinatra or someone else would be rehearsing Julia’s lines right about now.”

             Jimmy’s lips twitched up into a smile, then went back down. “Yeah.”

             “I don’t actually mind Sinatra, you know?”

             “Don’t let Donny hear that.” Jimmy chuckled.

             “Don’t plan on it. He’d probably shove my bass so far up my ass I’d be pulling the strings out of my teeth.”

             Jimmy fully laughed at that. “Jesus, Davy.”

             Davy snorted and threw his arms out to his sides as if to say, _“Am I wrong?”_

             Jimmy simply shook his head and returned his attention to the area of space he was staring into earlier. Davy decided to do the same.

             This time it was Jimmy who broke the silence.

             “Petrichor.” He whispered, smoke curling out of his mouth and disappearing into the night.

             “What?” Davy responded, his head tilted to the side in confusion.

             “Petrichor. The scent of the air after it rains.” Jimmy further explained.

             “Oh. There’s a word for that?”

             “No. It’s just one that...a friend...and I created. It’s such a beautiful smell that it deserves a name.” He didn't mean to hesitate, but he did.

             “A friend? A special someone, you mean. A _male_ special someone.” Davy turned his entire body to the side to face Jimmy. He noticed Jimmy’s hand trembling slightly as he pulled the cigarette away from his mouth.

             “What of it?” He wasn’t staring into space anymore. He wasn’t thinking. He was staring at the wall of the building ahead of them, obviously trying to avoid eye contact.

             “I don’t care. I don’t mind, I should say. I mean, I don’t know why I said it. It’s none of my business. I honestly don’t mind, though. And I won’t tell anyone.” Davy made a motion where he pretended to zip his lips and fasten a lock over them.

             “...Thank you, Davy. Did Donny tell you?” Jimmy released a shaky exhale before resuming his previously calm composure.

             “Donny knows?”

             “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Yeah, he knows.”

             “Does anyone else know?”

             “No. Not that I know of. Not unless Donny spilled, which I don’t think he would. Not unless someone could tell, which brings me to ask…” Jimmy trailed off. He put his cigarette out in the outdoor ashtray before mimicking Davy and turning his body to face him.

             “Just had a feeling. It’s mainly the way you reacted to ‘Love Will Come and Find Me.’ It affected us all, but it just seemed different with you. I also noticed the way you’d eyeball Donny for a while there.” Davy raised an eyebrow.

             Jimmy rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. “Just feelings. Nothing more. You talk about Julia being observant, but you are as well. I wonder if she knows?”

             “She probably does. God knows she won’t tell anyone, though. Also, I’ve seen how eyeballing Donny has turned into eyeballing Johnny. So, petrichor. What’s it mean?” Davy quickly changed the subject before Jimmy got to say anything about his statement.

             Jimmy went along with it. “I told you-”

             “No, I mean...why that word? What about it makes it mean what it does?”

             “Oh, well, the first part comes from the Greek word ‘petros,’ which means ‘stone.’ That was all Charlie; don’t ask me why he chose that. The second part comes from ‘ichor.’ It’s the word for the fluid which ran through the veins of the gods. That part was me. ‘Petros’ plus ‘ichor’ equals ‘petrichor.’”

             “Makes sense. Petrichor. The smell of the air after it rains. The good after a lengthy period of bad. Petrichor.” Davy waved his hand in front of him as if displaying the word on a sign.

             “I...didn’t think about it like that. That’s a nice way of seeing it. Do you write poetry, Davy?”

             “Oh, God no. I’ll leave that to Julia. I just like reading it. Do you write laws?”

             “Okay, that’s different. You should try. You could be the next Shakespeare.”

             “Says the man who helped to create the word ‘petrichor’ out of the name for the blood of the gods.”

             “Write a poem about petrichor.”

             “What?”

             “You heard me. Write a poem about petrichor. ‘The good after a lengthy period of bad.’”

             “And if it’s still raining?”

             “Write about the longing for petrichor.”

             “And if it never stops?”

             “Write the truth. ‘Welcome Home.’”

             Davy took the last swig out of his bottle and thought about it, but chose to remain silent.

             “Well, we should probably go back inside. Who knows how long we’ve been out here.”

             “Yeah.”

             “Do you need help back to your room?”

             “Ah, no. I’m not that drunk. Yet.” Davy laughed and Jimmy flashed him a smile in return.

             “Alright, let’s go.”

             They both went back inside the hotel together. Jimmy went back up to his and Donny’s room, while Davy went back to his plan of staying in the bar.

 

* * *

 

 

             He was woken up in the morning by a few soft taps on his shoulder. It was time to leave. Jimmy and Johnny had kindly packed his bags for him so that he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of stumbling to his room and doing it all himself. He slowly spun around on the barstool to face the rest of the band.

             “Hey, guys. You know what I could use right about now?” He questioned, a smirk spread across his face. Nick and Wayne were already bracing for the ridiculous punchline. Donny, Julia, and Jimmy looked down at him in suspicion. Johnny looked honestly curious.

             “What?” Johnny asked, playing along with the joke.

             “Aspirin.”

             The group groaned in unison.

             “If I have to hear that word one more time I’m going to lose it,” Donny grumbled, dragging a hand over his face.

             Davy laughed, then slid off of the stool. He let Jimmy help him walk until his body fully woke up.

 

* * *

 

 

             On the train ride back to Cleveland, it was pleasantly silent. There was the occasional conversation struck up every few minutes, along with the near constant sounds of humming and tapping coming from certain band members, but it was mostly quiet. Davy had fallen back asleep for a short while. When he woke up, the first thing he saw was the light drizzle outside. It...inspired him.

             “Does anyone have some paper?” He called out.

             “Yeah, here.” Nick, who was beside him, pulled an entire notebook out of his suit jacket pocket and handed it to Davy.

             “I’m sorry, did you steal this from the hotel?”

             “Yeah. So?”

             “Just wondering,” Davy mumbled before taking out the pen he took from the hotel.

             “It isn’t illegal if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s an accommodation. They expect you to take it. They’ll just replace it if you don’t.” Jimmy said from the back, his voice noticeably deeper as he tried to stifle a yawn.

             “Just making sure.” He didn’t want to be rude, but he’d never been struck with inspiration like this before and he didn’t want to lose it. After taking another glance outside, he started writing. He wrote about petrichor as Jimmy suggested. He wrote about the constant drizzle that often strengthened into a thunderstorm and rarely weakened into a sunny petrichor-filled day. He wrote the truth. It wasn’t perfect. The rhyme scheme was inconsistent and the meter was hardly there, but is any poem truly perfect? He wasn’t Julia, and he damn sure wasn’t Shakespeare, but he felt proud of his work. He hadn’t felt that in a while.


End file.
